


Hard Bargain

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Drama, During Canon, Established Relationship, Kinks, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-18
Updated: 2009-09-18
Packaged: 2018-09-03 11:09:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8710225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Jacked up on adrenaline after a hunt and narrowly escaping a speeding ticket, Sam gives Dean an abrupt lesson in discretion.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

  
Author's notes: Measuring 3.86 inches, the longest human tongue on record belongs to Stephen Taylor, a 45-year-old man living in Coventry, UK. For the purpose of this story, I assumed most things on Sam were bigger than average, too. Please heed the rating on this fic; some may find it kinda graphic.

I took my inital post down to make some changes; many, many thanks to my friend Oschun for taking time to look over this story before I reposted.  


* * *

Title: Hard Bargain

Author: jdax

 

 

***

 

The engine had barely died when Sam swung the driver’s side door open, reached in, and hauled all six feet of his brother out into the cool night air. Dean was glad they’d found this clearing, partially shielded as it was from the road by a gnarled mass of brush and fallen trees, but a few minutes longer, and it wouldn’t have mattered; judging by the look of quiet determination on Sam’s face, he would have had the older man bent over the front fender of the car right now regardless of _where_ they were.

 

Sam slapped the stolen handcuffs around his brother’s wrists, cold metal biting into his flesh.

 

“Hey, when’d you-”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Dean swallowed hard. If he were honest with himself, this scenario had flashed through his mind, however briefly, not fifteen minutes ago as he’d stood talking to the cop on the side of a particularly lonely stretch of highway. The officer, a short, balding, fifty-something man whose uniform buttons strained against a round expanse of belly, had eyed the oldest Winchester with interest as they’d negotiated him down from a speeding ticket and a background check to a written warning; when the policeman’s thumb brushed his own as he handed over the small, yellow slip of paper, Dean wondered if he was about to take his freedom out in trade.

 

Catching Sam’s eye as he’d slipped back into the driver’s seat, Dean saw he hadn’t escaped that fate at all.

 

Granted, they’d only fucked a couple of times, so Dean couldn’t yet claim to know what Sam was _usually_ like during sex, but he hadn’t really expected this. Adrenaline-driven, post-hunt aggression was one thing, but right now, as Sam roughly kicked his brother’s feet apart, he seemed downright pissed.

 

“Hey,” Dean whispered breathlessly. “Maybe this isn’t-”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Dean frowned. “Seriously-”

 

“I _said_ shut your mouth.” He heard a rustling noise behind him, felt Sam’s weight shift. “Or maybe I should shut it for you.” 

 

“What the-” Suddenly, a damp cloth he knew to be his brother’s t-shirt was shoved between his teeth, tied tightly around the back of his head. “Smm!”

 

“After everything we’ve been through, you almost blow it over a fucking speeding ticket,” Sam muttered. “Haven’t I warned you about that kinda thing like a _million_ times? Huh? You could’ve gotten us arrested.” He reached around, flicking the button of the older man’s jeans, shoving them down around his knees. Startled and a little panicked, Dean shifted his hips, tried to push his brother off balance, might have succeed, too, if Sam’s strong hands hadn’t slipped over his hips then, holding him hard against the car. “You never listen to what I say, but you’re sure as hell gonna _do_ what I say.”

 

Dry twigs snapped under the youngest Winchester’s weight as he dropped to his knees behind his brother. At the first flickering touch of Sam’s lips to his balls, Dean thrashed. 

 

_“Smmm!”_

 

Without regard for the older man’s discomfort or humiliation, Sam seized his knees, spreading them wider. “You really think yelling for help out here is a good idea?” 

 

Night noise filled the dark clearing, drowning out the oldest Winchester’s muffled cries as Sam laved hotly over sensitive, trembling flesh. At first, Dean strained away, only to discover that when he thrust his hips forward to escape that wet, seeking tongue, his cock, now swollen and dripping with pre-come, found too much pressure between his body and the Impala’s. He laid there, cheek pressed against the hood, flushed and panting, as Sam’s tongue slowly circled his hole. He tried – God, he tried –not to react, not to give his arrogant little brother the satisfaction of knowing he was driving Dean toward the most torturous orgasm of his young life, but resistance was all but impossible the instant Sam penetrated him. Dean moaned, long and low. The strokes, at first gentle, soon became a demanding display of Sam’s power as he clutched Dean’s hips, dragging the older man backward to sit more fully on his tongue, to fuck himself more deeply. 

 

The nuances of Dean’s pleasure escaped him at first, but as he relaxed around the warm flesh inside him, languidly clenching now and then as he thrust forward and back, Sam’s fingers suddenly tightened on his hips, just seconds before his tongue lit across Dean’s prostate, setting him on fire. 

 

“Mmmm! Mmmmm!” he screamed, not really caring who heard him now. He couldn’t help himself as the tip of Sam’s tongue flicked the sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside. Sam held him down hard, filled him, took him like that over and over, fucking in and out of his slick opening until Dean forgot why he’d ever fought this at all. As his balls drew up into that familiar coil of warmth and pleasure, though, Sam withdrew. He could hear the clink of his brother’s belt buckle, the soft release of Sam’s zipper as the young hunter finally, finally, _finally_ pressed the head of his weeping cock inside. 

 

Sam smoothed his hand over Dean’s back, fitted his hips snugly against his ass, obviously waiting for him to adjust. “C’mon,” Sam whispered darkly, voice thick with arousal and anticipation as he yanked gently on the handcuffs. “Spread ‘em, Winchester.”

 

Dean sucked in a shuttering breath, pressed back, fully impaling himself on his brother’s huge, throbbing cock. 

 

“Yeah, that’s right,” Sam groaned, reaching around, seizing Dean’s aching shaft, enclosing it in a warm hand. “Yeah…oh, yeah…oh, _fuck_!” Sam bit out, rocking against Dean’s body. Dean grunted around the gag in his mouth when his brother’s dick brushed his prostate again. 

 

“You like that, huh?” Tightening his grip on Dean’s swollen cock, he thrust inside more deeply, moaning softly as the older man writhed beneath him. “You couldn’t wait to spread your legs for me, could you?”

 

Dean could only groan helplessly as Sam’s free hand slipped into his hair, yanking his head up from the cool metal of the Impala’s hood; tears were streaming down his flushed cheeks. “Slut,” Sam whispered. As if to confirm this claim, Dean’s hips jerked forward then, once, twice, and suddenly he was coming, painting the side of the car to the sound of his brother’s cock slipping wetly in and out of his hot, tight hole. A moment later, Sam’s nails dug hard into Dean’s hip, drawing a little blood, as he filled him with wave after wave of his pleasure.

 

In the distance, something wild cried at the rising moon.

 

Even after Sam pulled out, zipped up, Dean lay across the hood of the car, moaning softly in the darkness. The gag was loosened, then dropped to the ground as the young hunter smoothed a hand over Dean’s back.

 

“We should go,” he whispered, making quick work of the lock on the handcuffs.

 

Nodding, Dean hauled himself up slowly, stumbling as he yanked up his jeans. He rounded the front of the car, then slipped carefully into the driver’s seat. They sat there for a moment, both staring straight ahead into the blackness.

 

“We gonna talk about this?”

 

“You really want to?”

 

Dean thought about that. He was, he decided, not angry, just curious and confused. Sam’s dominance had freaked the hell out of him, alright, but he’d be lying to both of them if he said it hadn’t been an incredible turn on.

 

And a strange relief; for once in his life, someone had been strong enough, even for a moment, to wrest away his overwhelming sense of responsibility. 

 

That had to mean something.

 

“No,” Dean finally answered. Putting the key in the ignition, he turned the engine on.

 

“Wait,” Sam said, reaching into his own front shirt pocket to reveal his brother’s Swiss Army knife.

 

Dean frowned. “Dude, when’d you-”

 

“We agreed not to talk about it,” Sam reminded him. “Take your shirt off. Just the top one.”

 

“Look-”

 

“You’re really _not_ gonna start mouthing off to me now, are you?” Sam said matter-of-factly. He unfolded the knife, found the blade he was looking for. “You’ve seen what I can do to you _without_ a weapon.” 

 

Dean had barely shrugged out of the faded flannel over shirt when Sam’s strong fingers twisted into the damp fabric of the t-shirt underneath; a second later, the knife sliced it from his body. 

 

“A little dramatic, don’t ya think?” Dean observed, slipping out of the shredded shirt.

 

“It has the benefit of being memorable. Look.” In what used to be the middle of the shirt was a large, dark bloodstain.

 

Dean frowned. “I didn’t-”

 

“The shirt on top was buttoned this time, but what if hadn’t been?” Sam said, handing the pocket knife to Dean. “You gonna explain to that cop what we do for a living, or just hope like hell he’s one of the few unlucky bastards who’s ever seen a windigo?”

 

“ _Ok_ , Sam, you made your point.”

 

“We just need to be more careful, is all.”

 

“You couldn’t have just _said_ that?” Dean sighed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

 

“You ever gonna forget this?”

 

Dean made sure the headlights were off as the Impala slowly emerged from the small access road and turned back onto the main highway. In the rearview mirror, he caught sight of the police cruiser sitting on the gravel shoulder in the darkness, not fifty feet from where they’d just been. “Hey, you don’t think-” 

 

Sam glanced quickly over his shoulder. “Just keep driving.”

 

“Sam, what if he-”

 

“Go!”

 

*

 

Two hours later, Dean was propped up against the padded headboard of Sam’s bed in their room at the Regency Inn, casually flipping channels. The closing credits were rolling on _Benny Hill_ when Sam emerged, wet and clean, from the bathroom. 

 

“What’cha doin’?”

 

Dean craned his neck around his brother’s body. “You make a better door than a window, dude.”

 

He stepped aside. Dean changed the channel. Sam frowned. “You mad at me?”

 

Dean glanced at him. “Why would you think that?”

 

“You haven’t said much since we got here.”

 

“Gee, I can’t think of any reason why I might be pissed, can you?” The question was more sarcastic than he actually intended. 

 

“Dean-” Sam stared at the floor as if he were hoping it’d somehow open up and swallow him whole.

 

“Hey,” his brother said, turning the TV off and dropping the remote control, “I get it. We’ve gotten sloppy.”

 

“Look-”

 

“I gotta point to make, too, you know? Okay, maybe I need to be more careful, more observant or whatever, but that was a hell of a thing you did back there.”

 

Sam nodded tightly. Dean could see his brother’s jaw working as a couple of different responses died on his lips. Finally, he muttered, “I had my reasons.”

 

“Yeah, Sam, but it’s kinda like what you were sayin’; there are some things you can’t fix. I mean, that was my _favorite_ shirt, man.”

 

“I _thought_ you understood. I thought-” Sam glanced up to find the older man still sitting against the headboard, languidly palming his burgeoning erection through the denim of his jeans. A grin played at the corners of his mouth. 

 

Sam frowned. “Huh?”

 

“Pretty ballsy, usin’ _my_ knife. By the way, we’re gonna talk about those sticky fingers of yours.”

 

“Are we still talking about the theft?” Sam smirked.

 

“Real cute.” Dean nodded. “The handcuffs were one thing, but you screwed with _my_ stuff, Sammy. I can’t let that slide.” Pulling his zipper down, Dean let his legs fall open in invitation. 

 

Sam licked his lips. “What’re you doing?”

 

“What’s it look like, genius? Waiting for your apology.”

 

 

***


End file.
